Keith leaned forward suddenly. "And why is it that John Keith, dead and
buried, should have anything to do with this?" he demanded. "Why did
this 'intense interest' you speak of in John Keith begin at about the
same time your suspicions began to include Shan Tung?"

McDowell shook his head. "It may be that her interest was not so much
in John Keith as in you, Conniston. That is for you to
discover--tonight. It is an interesting situation. It has tragic
possibilities. The instant you substantiate my suspicions we'll deal
directly with Shan Tung. Just now--there's Wallie behind you grinning
like a Cheshire cat. His dinner must be a success."

The diminutive Jap had noiselessly opened the door of the little
dining-room in which the table was set for two.

Keith smiled as he sat down opposite the man who would have sent him to
the executioner had he known the truth. After all, it was but a step
from comedy to tragedy. And just now he was conscious of a bit of
grisly humor in the situation.



VIII

The storm had settled into a steady drizzle when McDowell left the
Shack at two o'clock. Keith watched the iron man, as his tall, gray
figure faded away into the mist down the slope, with a curious
undercurrent of emotion. Before the inspector had come up as his guest
he had, he thought, definitely decided his future action. He would go
west on his furlough, write McDowell that he had decided not to